The Old Smog and the Sea
by Nate-kun
Summary: A story originally done as a request from /vp/: "A veteran trainer has to spend a day teaching kindergartners about Pokemon battles, but he can't contain his competitive drive, causing problems." Humor is more understandable if you are invested with the current metagame.


**This a story written for an anon on /vp/ that requested a story about a veteran trainer teaching children about Pokemon. With the only downside being that he is a competitive battler, and cannot contain his drive even while teaching. In other words he's from Smogon, and if you don't know what it is, you probably should go look that up.**

**Word Count: 1804 words.**

* * *

The Old Smog and the Sea

Professor Juniper adjusts her hair at the last second, if not just to appear in top form for the children. She's professor of the region and they're the trainers of the future, after all, one must always look their best.

"Are you sure you'll be able to handle them? They're awful rowdy after all..."

He puts her concerns to a rest with a mere fan of his hand, "Nonsense! They're just kindergartners, what harm can be done? Having them learn from an old-timer like me will not only benefit for their own good, but it'll also keep 'em out of harm's way when their own journeys start."

Professor Juniper taps her chin with a delicate finger, she's still unsure to a certain degree, but she really has no reason to argue considering that this was her idea to begin with.

"Mm...Alright. You've convinced me. Just show them the starter Pokemon and explain their types and advantages, okay?"

With a final confirmation of his understanding, she walks off to visit fellow professor and high school colleague, Professor Fennel.

The group of children all stare at him in a curious bewilderment, never before have any of them ever met, nor even seen, such a well-dressed man.

A short introduction then follows, he walks up to the chalkboard, writes his name in big letters that they can see, and then adds a small doodle under the calligraphy for child amusement.

The trouble started here, at least, that's what the veteran thought. Little did he know that it was worsening from the very moment he accepted the job in the first place.

A child.

A child raises her hand. A small little girl, by the name of little Cindy Lou Chew, who was clearly a handful of years older than two. She knew very little about Pokemon, as did the other children, figures such an honor as first-question-of-the-day would go to someone so dense.

"Mister?" she asks.

"Hm? Yes, dear?" he asks in return.

"What's 'tat under your name? That...That Poke-ee-man?"

"Why, it's a Politoed dear!" he answers in a sincere voice.

"Huh? A Politoed? What's 'tat, mister?"

It is here that the teacher is reminded of grave occurrences happening to him in several tournaments of the past. They all only serve as a reminder to his infrequent failures, a burning question within his core demands to know why he drew the amphibian menace to begin with.

"It's an OU drizzling nightmare..." he answers, his voice now getting a tad dull.

"Huh? Um, mister...What's OU?"

The veteran turns around to face the chalkboard, his mind swirling with the memories he wishes would have stayed in their tombstones. But now because of these...these optimistic love-spewing peons, his day had just gone from bad to worst, all in the span of a single second.

He can still remember the pained howls of his friends, his only friends.

"_**Gyaaarrooooooooooo!**_"

And who could forget the laughter? The joyous laughter of the Unovan-clapping abomination that was "The Drizzle"

"_**Ribbit motherfucker, ribbit!**_"

Taking a deep breath, he turns around to face the young girl.

Such innocence. Such pure, pure succulent innocence. Initially, it stands that there should be absolutely no reason for the girl, or any of the children to have to endure his "detour lecture", but if they were intending on becoming Pokemon trainers, then it stood as a mandatory requirement in his tortured eyes.

"Tell me, what's your name?"

"M-Me..?"

"No, the naive hooligan behind you- of course you!"

The girl is beginning to notice just how loud his voice is starting to get, "C-Cindy..."

He kneels down, puts a hand on her shoulder, and looks deep into the child's eyes. Not even her preschooler hat can shield her vision away from those dark, dull pools of death.

She is a ray of Unovan sunshine.

And her curious innocence was her ultimate downfall.

"Let me tell you something then- _**Cindy**_. Have you- No, class, I want you **all** to listen to me. Not just Cindy. **Everyone listen**."

It's not like they had anyone else to listen to.

"Have you ever...Have you ever worked towards a goal for your entire life? Only to have it all taken from you at the last minute? Even though you came up with the perfect strategy? A strategy so good that it was yet to be discovered by one who had intentions to ban it? Has it ever occurred to you how grueling it is to come up with an entirely original strategy on your own without someone calling it out for being the same old song and dance?"

"And the funny thing is- no trust me, **this is divine hilarious**- this is even called out for in the **same damn tier **that it is _**supposed**_ to be allowed in! Now, take that, imagine that you've just come up with the most perfect Sand Stream strategy, and there Hippowdon was, right on the right, and there Excadrill was on the left. God. Don't you just love Sand Force? Let's not forget poor Garchomp either, with such an invaluable weakness to the coolest of the cool, the only thing that could outright protect him from harm is concentrated concealment."

"It was the only way."

The children begin to speak, as if to ask what he's talking about.

He quickly interrupts and keeps going.

"Garchomp started out with his Choice Band OP power, I figured it was necessary to have him wear it due to the fact that it only helps boost his moveset, which was already at increased STAB. With the sandstorm already in motion due to Hippowdon, I was sure that there was no way I could lose."

"Earthquakes ravished the field, but I gave Excadrill a Focus Sash, and let me tell you, he held onto it for **dear life.** Hippowdon was so bulky, bulky from the EV training, his IVs were already around the thirties to begin with, god, I was so lucky, to have rescued him in that swam from those damned filthy poke-fuckers, the ones that wanted to ravage his big hippity-hop ass..."

A boy, an uncomfortable boy was unsettled by the veteran's apparent nonsense, raised his hand.

"M-Mister...M-My tummy hurts..."

The veteran looked at him with his bloodshot eyes. The boy asked a question, but what he heard was "_**Gyaaarrooooooooooo!**_"

"That's the feeling of heroism, son."

The story continued.

"As I was saying, I began to notice a strange theme about the guy's set-up. And it was then that I realized...He was using all-frogs. And it was from that moment on, that I knew there was trouble afoot."

"Even with my Ground-type disadvantage, by sheer luck and the leftovers on Hippowdon's big diet, we quickly defeated the filler guy, Froakie. Need I bring up that this was a 5-on-5 triple battle, and my final one at that. The sides were now on 5-on-4, but the trouble was only beginning. In the mere starter's place was the most malevolent being that ever graced these mortal terrains. It was a nightmare envisioned, something you children will never understand until you tame the beast within itself."

"Politoed. But not just any Politoed."

He whispers as quiet as can be to the children while still being within their earshot.

"The Drizzle."

He sighs, rubs his temples, and looks the class deep in the eyes.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate Swift Swim?"

"No matter what I did, Politoed would keep protecting, would keep poisoning, encoring, scalding, healing, the worst of all? He just kept it pouring. All of the day. All of the time. My sandstorm was no more, and each time Hippowdon was called out and called back in to put it back up, he'd just repeat the same strategy with Politoed. There was just no way, no way. He was stalling, stalling so the poison would secrete faster into their skin."

"Chompsworth, Hippster, and Mr. Driller would never see the light of the day ever again."

"So I tossed out my final two, my best friend, and a Shuckle. But no matter how much the mold-turtle poisoned and stalled himself, Seismitoad and Poliwrath would protect their Politoed master. Eventually, Seismistoad was defeated, but in his place was someone more agile."

"Toxicroak and his skin, which was the driest of the possible dry."

By now, the children were either chewing their fingernails in anticipation or were waiting for him to finish just so they could all collectively shit their pants at the final story-ending punchline.

"In the end, no one survived. Shuckle was down, and I cursed at him for his failures, spawning a copypasta that would be passed down from heirs to heirs...I never saw my best friend ever again, but sometimes, when I go out to the enigmatic waters just off the bay, I can still hear him..."

"_**Gyaaarrooooooooooo!**_"

"And everytime I hear those cries, I hear the ribbits too. No matter where I go, even if I wasn't fighting a Politoed anymore, it didn't matter whether or not he was on the battlefield, I heard him. I heard him everywhere. The croaking was in my head, and by the time I even realized it I was too far into the abyss to rescue myself from the horrors I had stumbled upon. It was then that I learned two things, being on top isn't everything one could ever dream of,"

"And that Sand Stream teams are horribly ineffective against anything."

At that moment, all of the children in the classroom collectively shat their pants.

One brave soul, not Cindy nor the boy, raised his hand as a last-second attempt to get his attention. He didn't want to go to less-than-standard-quality school bathroom, he didn't want to go to the nurse for a chance of clothes, he just wanted him to get to the point so that he could get home and forget ever wishing to become a trainer on the night of his third birthday.

"U-Um...M-Mister? T-That's a neat story...b-but weren't you supposed to tell us about Pokemon...?"

It's then that the veteran snaps back to reality.. It seems that he's done it yet again, he's let the past get the better of him.

He quickly grabs three pokeballs from his coat, throwing them all out at once, collectively revealing all three Unova starters at the same time, Snivy, Teig, and Oshawott.

It would be beneficial if he were to make this quick.

He rubs his temples for the final time.

"Alright, here's three steaming piles of _**shit!**_ Don't bother trying to pick which one is good, they all suck ass and aren't competitively good enough to be listed in any notable tiers, pick your poison and box 'em for a Gyarados. Don't forget to teach him Waterfall."

"Class dismissed."


End file.
